Fae Courts Dog Eat Dog

[Vaer Nhimei]

After the Wild Hunt had raged and after Midir had left for his winter slumber, Laigin was left to the dogs. Literally and metaphorically. Hounds, both titled and not, were left to weather the depths of the cold season free of supervision. And, just as it was in the Winter Court, the infighting started as soon as the King's back was turned.

The power structure of the Wild Hunt was very loose. There was, of course, the formal distinction between hounds and Hounds thanks to Midir's virtue titles to distinguish his best hunters. Beyond that? Well, there really wasn't anything beyond that, and therein laid the problem.

So thousands upon thousands of years ago, someone had come up with the grand idea to cut out all the bullshit and get right to the chase. After Midir departed, the Sluagh gathered on the next full moon to sort itself out.

The training grounds had been transformed for the event. A square of bare earth had been roped off to form a makeshift stage for the night's bloody festivities. Around it, turnouts and cliques were forming. A few brought food and liquor with them, but there was very little formality or reason to the random awnings and tables. Some were free, some free for friends. This year someone had gone as far as to decorate, and there was something frustratingly cwn about the cheery, juvenile rainbow bunting strung up. Mismatched lanterns were hung haphazardly, some left from previous years and now assumed as permanent fixtures among the branches.

The obstacle course was being used as informal seating and some had staked out their spots as early as the previous morning to ensure that they had the best view of the fights. Others were rearranging crates and logs and barrels as it suited them and their parties. A few had planned ahead, unfolding chairs to form polite rows for the revered guests in attendance. More than one cwn Matriarch was perched in all her regal glory. Several High Lords were laughing and gossiping. Stoic Hounds that had no need for these silly contests sat comfortably.

Nobody explained the rules. Nobody made an announcement for the newcomers or the guests. It was only the Sluagh and their families here. If anyone was confused, they did not have to wait long.

The moment the sun dropped over the horizon, the first eager participant stepped into the ring. He called out a name to the crowd and there was a roar of voices -- laughter, heckling, whistles, and booing. The throngs parted around the individual he had challenged. She pranced to the ring with a cocky smirk and stepped under the rope. The pair exchanged a few words as they squared up, the first fist was thrown, and the evening truly began.

There was usually only one victor with these things, but occasionally they came up a draw. The ring was not empty long between fights. Some were young hounds struggling to find their place in their first years. Others were more high-profile, challenges that defined a hound's mobility and reputation -- for better or for worse. All victories were final.

Or at least until this time next year.

---

---

The only bad part about being in the Sluagh was actually being in the Sluagh. Vaer was reminded of this every year about the same time.

A pair of young male cwns from feuding septs stepped in to fill the ring. Something about determining who was the strongest to have the claim to a young future Matriarch, who was vehemently barking for her pick on the other side of the ring.

Any other year, a love triangle might have been something Vaer would have gladly leaned over to gossip about with the nearest friend. This year he did no gossiping. He stood alone in the crowd, watching the fight without really seeing any of it. He had his arms folded loosely across his chest and one of his feet tapped impatiently. Coming was something of an obligation and his mind was far from the ring and the blood and the cheers.

 

[Samara Khalid]

The Huntress of the Sluagh loved the Sluagh, but she hated the bullshit of having this little shindig every year so the little baby hounds could work out their fefes. How nice it was to have a pretty ring and spectators for your fights. When she and Jago finally snapped on eachother - at least two or three times a year - they didn't wait until the next winter to take care of shit. Sure, she was the one who got her ass kicked everytime but she was not a child who needed some sort of safety for her fights. One day she would beat the asshole.

Samara had already started drinking, but she had not drank enough to want to be here - not yet at least. She carried her jug of ale and grumbled as she watched the current fight. Children. She saw Vaer and debated if she wanted to be nice. What the hell, she thought. It had been some time since she had actually spoken to him and she was feeling some leaf turning coming on.

She walked up and stood next to him. She set her jug down on the ground and crossed her arms, resisting the urge to smack his very nice ass. A ritual she occasionally enjoyed to piss him off. "Vaer," Samara said with a small - a very small - smile. "Fancy seeing you here." Her sarcasm was palpable, thick as the humid jungle air in the summertime.

Vaer Nhimei

 

[Jago Rhys]

Every year, it was the same bullshit. Young hounds came to test their mettle, make themselves notable. Rarely did they make enough of an impression to join the elite. Golden eyes watched the two cwn in the ring as Jago sat sprawled at a bench.

His lip was curled in a sneer as he watched them make a spectacle of themselves. You wouldn't find anyone in a ten foot radius of The Spear, and he liked it that way. The only shucks that ever approached him were Vaer and Baenon, and even then that was rare.

That was why, when a young cnw approached him, it caught him a little by surprise. Some of the newer puppies didn't know his reputation, they soon would. She was a slip of a thing, most would consider her cute. Jago did not entertain such things, and even his sneer wasn't keeping the inebriated girl away.

She got to close to him, her flirting becoming a nuisance. He tried to tolerate it, honestly, at least for a minute. When she got in his face, that's when he decided to put a stop to it. He reached out and grabbed her head, his hand covering the entirety of her face. "Leave me the fuck alone, stupid little bitch." He stood, towering over her, his hand still gripping the terrified cwn. He lifted her slightly, tossing her as if she were nothing to the dirt.

The cwn gathered herself and took off in hysterics, drawing eyes to him. He merely chuckled, reaching for his drink. Yeah, they would learn. One way or the other.

 

[Baenon]

Tonight was an unusual night for Baenon.

He was at a party. There were a lot of people he disliked. The food was terrible and the entertainment was worse. But he actually wanted to be here.

Why?

Standing outside a lower entrance to the arena, Baenon waited patiently just aside from the open doorway with his hands clasped behind him, feet set shoulder width apart, back straight, seedy eyes roving across the arriving faces. Dark and brooding a persona he might be, Baen did not make a habit of the ol' glowering while leaning against a wall, arms cross at his front cliche.

Baenon was a goddamn menacing figurehead and it brought his great, prickly joy to glare directly into the eyes of those who dared look upon him and send them skittering around him as they passed him by.

That was until a specific someone arrived.

"Veithir ," he greeted his fellow Sluagh from afar, making no gesture that required any form of touching to do so and falling seamlessly into stride with him as they followed the dithering crowd inside, "did you bring them?"

 

[Sivan]

Casimir Bielke absolutely hated how every year after killing, those within the sluagh decided more fighting was needed. The timid cwn annwn was not a fan of the little fighting ring, much like how he wasn’t pleased by the fighting arena at the Vitae party. More importantly, the thing he disliked the most was how unorganized the whole entire thing was. In truth, Casimir felt everything looked so dreary and dirty, the gloom and doom of the shucks ruined the beautiful lanterns he had set up ten years ago and no one seemed to be impressed by the rainbow bunting he had worked on for hours. He hadn’t even finished adding all the different colored glitters to it before he had to run home and get ready.

Not to mention that Cas had even gone through the trouble to buy different table clothes for the tables he had painstakingly set up, choosing darling pastel pinks, lavenders, baby blues, and mint greens to hopefully brighten up the evening. The fair colored fae huffed as he crossed his arms. Proud of his cwn annwn status, Cas had dressed to represent a being of light. Although he had taken a few liberties of everything being incredibly tight and rather revealing of his torso. Unfortunately, his attire of a very soft gray, pearl white and accents of ballet slipper pink caught the glitter left over from his hands easily. He had yet to notice it yet.

He had arrived without Astrid, she was busy doing something and mumbling something about Baenon when he had left, and suddenly he felt strangely out of place. A small cwn he was, even in his human form, his lithe figure allowed him to move much better through these tables and clusters of other cwn annwns who seemed to narrow their eyes at him if he got too close. Cas had no problem scuttling away from them, or scuttling away from the shucks who also glared at him. Actually, Cas had no problems sidestepping every person in this area, one wrong move and someone could throw him into the ring for whatever reason. And he was not wearing fighting clothes— these were party clothes. Dancing clothes even.

With that idea in mind Cas continued shuffling about, looking for Astrid as she should have been here by now. He huffed, eyes on the ground and ahead of him so he could keep maneuvering around people until some female cwn annwn— who was quite cute and slender— pushed into Cas, a slight dance of glitter puffing out from Cas as he looked at her confused. He turned, keeping sight of how she ran away, wondering if perhaps she was upset over something. If only he had kept moving, the next thirty seconds could have been avoided.

Another shove, another push, Cas seemed to be caught into a stream of male cwn annwns who seemed intent on following the female, pulling Cas back as if he had any intent on going after her. Stepping backwards and trying to get out of the slobbering group, Cas pivoted, was pushed once more and bumped into a solid form. The scent of asshole, violence, and being buried underground alive alerted him to Jago before Cas even had to open his lilac eyes. Cas whimpered softly, quickly stepping back, hands up as if Jago had sprung a weapon on him.

“Y-you… y-you s-saw that they p-pushed m-me into you r-right?” He squeaked up at the person with the shortest fuse he ever met.

Jago Rhys

 

[Veithir]

Rarely was Veithir beheld at parties or galas or anything of the like; they were dreadfully repetitive. Whether it was his first or now his thousandth-something, they were all the same. Arrive, idle about the function as if he were scum floating on the surface of a stagnant pond, and then leave. It had been several years since Veithir attended this particular event, but he did not for himself.

Even rarer than Veithir's participation in social gatherings were requests from Baenon, not for the latter lacking in needs, but rather that the shuck was one to demand rather than ask. How simple a favor it was, despite the peculiarity of it.

"Good evening," Veithir softly hissed, "I did." Tucked under his arm was a small leather roll.

The Hound wasn't one to answer a query with his own, which may have greatly contributed to the unlikely duo's association with each other over the years. So when Baenon had asked for his service, Veithir didn't pry as to whyfor.

Anyways, he couldn't help his curiosity.

"What are you ssscheming?"

 

[Astrid Bielke]

Cas had left before Astrid, something about glitter and decorating. While she loved her brother dearly, she knew he would get upset at the lack of care that was given. Still, he always tried. She could always appreciate that about him, he never gave up.

She had made the decision to fight tonight, and she knew she couldn't tell Cas. She just hoped she could somehow impress the shucks she admired..Especially Baenon. She fixed her collar while a blush crept across her face as she remembered the last comment he had made to her.

At last she was on her way, the smell of blood and sweat already in the air. She thought about looking for Cas, but instead stayed her course to the dirt arena. Two males were duking it out as she awaited her turn. It came soon enough, and she slipped in with a confident walk. Another male cwn, thinking he was tough entered as well.

She raised her lips in a snarl as he charged into her. She let him, ducking just in time and in the same motion, she hooked her foot around his ankle and tripped him. He fell flat, and she stepped back for his next move, a grin on her lips.

Casimir Bielke

 

[Vaer Nhimei]

The usual attendees had gathered. He noticed, as his eyes periodically scanned the crowd, that a few had made rare appearances this year. People that he could see any other day of the week if he wanted to, really. Baenon was unexpected; he rarely attended these things. He didn't need to. While he was not titled, he was a senior member of the Hunt and had nothing to prove and no challengers.

Vaer's attention was divided between the fight and… Was that Veithir?

Samara set down the jug and Vaer turned with brows high in a mild expression that belied his very honest surprise. He looked up from the jug to the woman herself as she mirrored his posture.

He couldn't resist looking around suspiciously. Was she talking to him? No one else seemed interested in the pair of black shucks and were engrossed in the fight as it neared its end. Samara was definitely there to talk to him and no one else.

It felt like a trap. Samara still hated him. Or so he'd thought, but it would not have been the first time he was wrong.

"You as well," he remarked, his tone distinctly dry. His eyes drifted back to the jug. Vaer was too smart to comment before he turned his focus back to the fight.

"Did you come to spectate or participate?"

Before she had the chance to answer, there was a loud squeal outside of the arena. The crowd seemed to flinch as one against the sharp, shrill whine, and many turned to see Jago pushing away a cwn. Vaer’s frown returned in force and he let loose a deep rumble

Of all the black shucks in Midir’s company of hounds, Jago had to be his least favorite. Mean, cocky, and just good enough to always get away with it, The Erlking’s Spear was just an asshole to everyone and seemed rather happy with that.

Vaer turned his head and spit.

“I would never wish harm upon a hound on the Hunt,” he growled quietly to Samara. “But I’m always disappointed when he comes back.”

 

[Baenon]

"Tonight I rectify the most unholy of affronts to walk within the Hunt," Baenon replied to his hissing companion, dark eyes narrowing to a squint as they strode inside the arena proper and were granted a view of the field below. It wasn't hard to pick out the black shucks in a crowd of creampuffs, and his gaze briefly lingered over tonight's target in question who was in the midst of rebuffing a cwn at that very moment.

"Jago's hair," Baen finished the thought. But first, to stir the pot.

He gestured to Veithir to join him as he stepped forward into the throngs, the pair of them parting the masses of hounds and other Hounds alike, and took a moment to pause near a group of cwn presently drooling around Matriarch Cordevi.

"Baenon," the woman blinked at him from where she stood, her pale grey armor still baring the scorch marks of the last hunt. Cordevi was matured in battle, a bit simple minded, but respectable in her achievements. Not too bad on the eyes, either, if pale and bright was your thing.

"Cordevi," Baen replied flatly, giving her a look over before leaning in toward her for a sniff, "is that lilac?"

Cordevi froze and would henceforth deny the pink blush of her cheeks, "It might be if you like it..."

Baen stood back and straight again, issued an implacable, "Hm," before turning to move on.

Cordevi's gaze followed him as far as it could without leaving her spot. The cwn in her circle exchanged awkward, angry glances and one of them lashed out at the male to his left. A fight shortly broke out and spilled into the crowds around them.

"Well well well..." Baen murmured to himself as they stepped through the intersection of various small fight arenas, his gaze settling on a familiar cwn face in an surprising location: Astrid Bielke in the fighting ring.

This, he hoped, would prove to be moderately interesting.

 

[Veithir]

No matter how abstruse, when choosing to speak, Baenon did as such with a purpose. If one would hold their tongue and wait, the black shuck would eventually reach his point. Of this, Veithir knew and kept his silence. The adder's sightly features remained unstirred as Baenon announced his petty intentions.

Veithir did not understand, but he did not need to. Even if done casually, he promised to assist Baenon.

"I sssee."

Veithir followed Baenon, and as the latter confronted the pack of cwn, he stayed back a comfortable distance and patiently waited for the tracker to satisfy whatever whim possessed him.

Baenon leaned in, exchanged short words, and sparked a brawl.

"What pitiousss thingsss," Veithir plainly remarked as he fell back in stride with Baenon.

Another thing Veithir did not understand was fighting for the sake of fighting, and as a courtesy, only gave two seconds of his attention to each bout they passed.

"Sssince when did sssuch dull affairsss enticcce you, Baenon?" he said, crossing his arms and joining the shuck in spectating Astrid's fight.

 

[Samara Khalid]

Samara enjoyed the surprised confusion on Vaer's face as she spoke to him. He had a moment of who me before he finally seemed to understand that yes, she was here making nice with her ex. While she waited for him to speak, she looked around the area at the attendants. She saw Baenon speaking with Veithir and they were both watching Astrid fight. That made her raise a brow especially since she was one hundred percent sure that Cas would not be okay with this.

"Did you come to spectate or participate?"

Samara gave with a withering look, but she was unable to respond before the noise of Jago's irritation with a cwn girl reached the two Hounds. She and Vaer growled at the same time and she bent down to grab her jug. That hadn't taken long. She popped the cork out of the jug and took a long drink of her ale.

"We all want him dead. One of these days it will happen. Hopefully sooner rather than later," Samara said with a scowl before returning to Vaer's previous question.

"In all the years you have known me, have I ever attended this thing to participate? Ever?!" Samara let out a genuine laugh. No, she settled her issues when they popped up. She did not participate in this nonsense. She took another drink and then held the jug out some for Vaer. "Would you like some ale?"

 

[Harrier]

A study in contrasts between the event and the nearby watcher.

Here, a scarred human in a ragged cloak. There, a crowd of elegant, lively fae warriors.

Here, transcendently awful posture. There, grace and finesse.

Here, a spark of light from a rib-bone pipe. There, a deepening twilight.

Here, alienness. There...if not homogeneity, at least a shared familiarity going back years or centuries.

This was manifestly not a place for Harrier Wren to belong. But after long itinerant years, she felt comfortable with the discomfort of walking strange paths among strangers.

She watched the fights with interest.

 

[Jago Rhys]

Jago was silently pleased over the chaos he caused. He knew he was an asshole, and he embraced it with fervor. Not a soul on this planet could change that. He enjoyed pissing people off, hurting them for no other reason other than the fact that he could. He was only able to enjoy a sip of his drink before he felt something soft run into him.

He looked down, a snarl on his lips and a growl in his throat. He towered over the cwn below him, and it only took him a second to realize who it was. His least favorite of the bunch, Casimer. He grabbed the cwn by the shirt and hauled him up, intent on inflicting some form of pain. He grunted in disgust as glitter clouded off him in small plumes.

He threw the cwn much harder than he had the girl. "You're lucky that you're covered in that bullshit. Get of of my sight before I change my mind." He did not want that crap on him, who would? "Why are you even here? You don't belong here." He looked up briefly and grinned. "Even your sister came to fight it seems." He spit at Casimir and turned to walk away. He needed another drink, these cwns were asking to be killed today apparently.

Casimir Bielke

 

[Sivan]

Cas was more than ready to receive a blow or two that would be nearly debilitating to him and his clothing. He had braced his face and his core— Jago’s favorite places to punch and kick him— his eyes squeezed tightly together before he felt himself being thrown hard onto the ground. A choked gasp came from the cwn annwn as his body made contact with the harsh ground, his lilac eyes showcasing his anguish. He whimpered as Jago spoke to him and then even spat near him. Cas slowly began to sit up, looking down at his attire and seeing that he was indeed covered in glitter. He thought it looked nice.

“A-Astrid w-w-would n-never.” He muttered to himself, glaring at Jago’s feet because only the gods knew what Jago would do if he actually looked Jago in the eyes and glared. But then Cas paused because despite knowing Jago to be the biggest asshole and evil incarnate in the world ever, he had never really known Jago to be a liar. Not because fae couldn’t lie but even if they could, Cas knew that Jago would still be bluntly honest because he was strong and could say whatever he liked.

Despite the pain, Cas got to his feet, and, wincing, made his way to the ring, only to see the horror that was his baby sister fighting. Why on earth would she do something like this? She didn’t even help him decorate! But she would fight instead? With more aggression than he was used to showing, he shoved smaller, female cwn annwns out of the way so he could be right at the edge, peering over at the pit. Despite already being quite pale, Casimir was devoid of any color whatsoever, despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“ASTRID!” Cas shouted, his shrill voice probably only making it to his sister’s ears because that’s just the sort of siblings they were. But the barking and shouting picked up as her opponent quickly got to his feet.

Jago Rhys Astrid Bielke

 

[Harrier]

Still slouched at the edge of things, puffing her human-rib pipe, Harrier watched a seven-foot fae do his dominance work. "That one," she said quietly. "What do you know?"

Beside her on a stump, a haunted pen dipped itself in a small jar of ink and scribbled on a parchment scrap. It didn't scribble for long.

Black shuck. At least one thousand years. High-ranking warrior.

Harrier grimaced, crumpled the brief note, and tucked all her belongings into her pack. The pack promptly disappeared to fae or human eyes. The necromancer cracked her neck and headed off to plant herself in the path of Jago Rhys.

"I'd challenge you," she said, looking up to meet his eyes.

A human in tattered travel clothes, leaning on a staff that jangled with smallish bones — she knew she very obviously did not belong here.

 

[Astrid Bielke]

Astrid was light on her feet, she had been training for months. It was unlikely that her opponent had worked as hard as she had to get here. She was so tired of being a pushover, she wanted to be strong. A yell reached her ears, of course it was Cas.

She knew he was probably worried sick, she knew he was probably surprised and hurt. She would have to make up for it later, she did find him specially colored glitters after all. She shook her head, she couldn't think of him right now.

The male cwn began to rise, he was pissed and she could see it. He approached her more slowly, finally reaching striking range. She raised her own fists, a grin on her lips. "Well then, show me what you've got."

He went to strike her, and she danced nimbly out of the way. It pissed him off more and he moved to hastily to get at her. She slid inside his guard and used the bottom of her palm to jut is chin up painfully, backing up to kick him in the stomach. He was dazed, but managed to grab her leg. He pulled and she fell to the sand.

As she looked about she saw Baen staring intently. She was not about to lose to this stupid cwn now. She was pulled up and he punched her square. Her noses started to bleed, and she sat there dazed and he wound on for another. She braced her legs on her opponent's chest and heaved, making him drop her before he could land a second blow.

 

[Addako Nachamek]

He shouldn't be here. He repeated that to himself at least a hundred times, even as he lounged on a crate with his legs crossed, a malcontent grimace settling on his face as yet another pair of combatants stepped into the fighting ring. A few years ago, Addako would have been reveling in this. A chance to get close to some of the finest Matriarchs, perhaps a battle in the ring to assert his strength and show off a bit. Really, he should have felt right at home with how prideful he'd always been.

But this place... The Autumn Court. It wasn't his home anymore. He'd been exiled from his sept some years ago, and he hadn't been back here since. It hadn't changed much, but how Addako felt about it had certainly shifted. When he'd been cast out, he'd exiled himself. This was the first time he'd seen more than one or two other Cwn's since then. Some of them were impressive, some of them were runts, but all of them had Septs, A Matriarch above them. Something to look forward to.

Addako was living about as far from a Cwn lifestyle as you could get.

And while he would never admit it, he was sickeningly bitter about it.

He wondered where his son was...

Nachamek had lost everything when he'd fled to Underhill. He'd had to restart from square one. No longer was he the Cwn who everybody wanted. He was on his own, and it was terrifying. The only thing that had saved him was his ability to adapt. His will to continue.

He worked for Queen Mab now. An Inquisitor, he was. Addako had always been quick on his feet, the fastest in his old sept. Keeping an ear out for information that the Queen may find useful was a cinch for somebody like him, and this was just part of the job. Who knew what juicy gossip might get spread around the Sluagh at an event like this.

Ugh. The Sluagh. Addako loathed them.

Even before he'd left Autumn, he'd thought of them as glorified hunting dogs. Granted most of them could rip him apart, even being a stand out among his own kind, but they were all so moody, and dramatic, and... If there was one good thing about his position working for Mab, it's that he wasn't expected to be here.

Yet here he was, eyes roaming over all these faces he hardly remembered, many he'd never met. No, this wouldn't do at all. If he was supposed to gather intelligence, he couldn't be moping about feeling sorry for himself. Or if he was, he couldn't look it. So, taking a deep breath Addako plastered that shit-eating grin of his back on his face, wiped down the creases in his outfit, and slid towards some of the chairs closer to the action. He had to come back with something to prove he was as good at his job as he claimed.

He just hoped one of these crazy-ass Shucks didn't come looking for a fight.

 

[Sivan]

Casimir nearly died with the fact that HIS DEAR BABY SISTER WAS FLIPPING BLEEDING FROM HER LITTLE NOSE!!! CAS LOVED THAT LITTLE NOSE OF HERS! IT WAS JUST LIKE HIS! Cas took a deep, shaky breath, wondering if he was having a heart attack right now. Nope, that was just his neuroticism and anxiety skyrocketing through the fudging roof. What on earth was his sweet and gentle sister doing, fighting some nobody? Fighting someone who was bigger than her and probably stronger than her in every way? At least he was a male cwn. Despite Cas also being a male cwn, he knew that the biases of them being idiots for the most part was totally true. He was an exception! He was also scared all the time but that just made him extra special.

“I’m gonna pass out!” Cas said dramatically, fanning himself and pushing him away from the rails. He needed fresh air. He needs drink. He needed his baby sister safe for Pete’s sake! Perhaps from all of the stress he wasn’t looking where he was going, and so it should have been no surprised that he bumped into another person. Tattered cloak got stuck in his mouth—yuck, gross— and when Cas stepped back to apologize profusely and whine about how he wasn’t feeling well mentally or physically, he caught sight of Jago. Oh heck no, that was the last thing he needed right now!

“U-uhm, I’m s-sorry, b-but you n-need to c-come w-with m-me r-r-right now!” Cas squeaked, grabbing Harrier’s hand and scampering off. Jago would kill her and kill him! Would probably find some way to somehow blame Cas for the whole thing to. And then this random, human stranger, his sister and him would all be dead, and that would be unfortunate. “Y-you n-need t… t-to staaay awaaay f-from h-him.” Cas warned this human who even the cwn annwn was confused at being at this… “slaugh party.” Unless… where they part of the sluagh?

Harrier Astrid Bielke

 

[Jago Rhys]

Jago had turned to get himself another drink, when yet another interruption stepped in front of him. He was regretting coming to this fucking thing already, and he hadn't even been here that long. He curled his lip as a growl reverberated through his chest.

She was not Sluagh, she was human. She should not be here. How she slipped through was anyone's guess. "You can challenge me all you want, I don't play with humans." No, he ate humans, and if she didn't scram she'd end up like the rest of them.

He had barely answered when Casimir came running back, and right into the human. Jago took the oppo to walk away, he wanted to watch the fights and drink. Still it seemed that everyone wanted to bug the fuck out of him tonight. Perhaps he would call it early, he didn't need to be here anyways.

Harrier Casimir Bielke

 

[Harrier]

Harrier neither allowed herself to be pulled away, nor followed as the man she'd challenged moved on.

"One would think," said Harrier softly, in a voice that somehow carried throughout the assembled fae, "your kind above all others would understand the risk of offending a mysterious stranger on a dark night in the woods."

A new sound, a thousand wailing voices, cut through the noise of the gathering and the combat. The wail jabbed the mind like a stiletto. It was everywhere and nowhere.

"Centuries of violence and death. What a place, what a place — and what lives you've chosen. You know these voices. What you hear now is everyone you've left behind. Everyone you've left behind. Betrayed. Murdered. Lost. Blissfully forgotten until Harrier Wren peeled back the years for you."

She raised her bone-rattle staff to the black sky. If there were any serious magicians among the fae here, they'd scent a power of cold implacable decay. This was the magic that stood against the Dreadlord fleet in the siege of Coraliv. That commanded an undead army against the Empire of Amol-Kalit at the conquest of Salitra. That killed the master Dreadlord Selene Avar in the ruins of Van Helth. That raised Crossroad Mire in the Bayou Garramarisma. That consumed the ancient library of the Shattered City in Alok-Therak. That sealed artifacts behind riddles in the bones of the earth. That voyaged to the uttermost edge of Arethil in search of knowledge. That raised gods with Asuego and faced Maho Sparhawk in the burning College of Elbion.

All that to say, the necromancer Harrier Wren tended to consider herself something of a big deal.

"I curse you all, you ancient children. Every night you will hear the miseries of those you've lost and left behind." Her magic swelled and went silent, as did the spectral wails. "And they will never let you rest until you lay their bones to rest."

Whether the curse played out exactly like that, fully like that, for everyone here, was an open question. Curses like these were never as cut-and-dried as some practitioners might prefer. For her part, Harrier found the nuance charming. It wasn't like she truly cared whether every single fae here faced the full weight of the curse until the condition was met in some way.

No, the point was to make a point. And if the curse uprooted or outright ruined a few long lives along the way...so much the better.


Jago Rhys
Casimir Bielke
Baenon
Vaer Nhimei
Samara Khalid
Astrid Bielke
Veithir
Addako Nachamek

 

[Baenon]

"Sssince when did sssuch dull affairsss enticcce you, Baenon?" he said, crossing his arms and joining the shuck in spectating Astrid's fight.

"You misread me, Veithir," Baenon replied, dark eyes trained on Astrid Bielke as she was trounced in the ring, "this is business, not pleasure."

He might have continued with further explanation to his intentions, but everything and everyone was cut off by an unlikely guest among them. His gaze tracked the shifting attention of the crowds as the hallow wails picked up, echoing through the throngs like baying hounds on a hunt. Harrier's words, though spoken not at all at high volume, seemed to resonate through the ears of each sluagh present.

Baenon narrowed his eyes on the wretch. She must be lost ... clearly the woman knew not with whom she dandied her darkness. These were not merely mortals who lived short lives and let their emotions drive and haunt them. These were creatures of time and geists who brought fortune and death in equal parts, as commanded by the Erlking. With every life snuffed out, they had very likely saved countless.

The great equalizers of the realm, the Wild Hunt knew no mistress of fate but balance.

Ghosts of unrest were simply another thursday. At least for Baenon. He scanned the crowd, seeking out familiar faces and spying Samara Khalid next to Vaer Nhimei not far from where Jago Rhys was presently making his departure of festivities. Unusual ... Jago wasn't one to make early exits. Not earlier than his own, anyway. That would spoil his plans, but adaptability was a key element within the Wild Hunt.

"We have need for large quantities of drink," he informed Veithir, slanting his gaze off across the crowds to the exit in the direction which Jago presently moved, "that way."

Off he stalked with purpose in his stride.

 

[Jago Rhys]

Jago paused his towering frame, a malicious grin curling his lips as the human spoke. A curse? As if those he killed, and tore, and shredded meant anything to him. He was not haunted with remorse, and never would be. He turned, murderous intent on the small, insignificant mortal. "You'll find your words mean nothing to me.." He gestured to the Hounds around him. "Or any of us. You've picked the wrong crowd mortal. You better leave before we turn our teeth upon your flesh, just for the fun of it."

If she chose to stay and challenge, he would invoke his bark. It would make any mortal flee. If she left, he would merely continue on his way. Golden eyes slid to the left as he caught Baenon and his scaled companion slipping through the crowd. That smelled of trouble too, but for whom was yet to be seen.

He grabbed a small male cwn and snarled out a command for drink, sending him scurrying for the requested item. Golden eyes shifted back to Baenon and he narrowed them. It seemed he was moving in his direction, and he hoped that didn't mean what he thought it did. It was well known even among his own kind that Jago was not well liked. It was fine with him, he was a weapon. He didn't need people to like him.

He briefly caught sight of Samara and Vaer, the two shucks he disliked most. Samara with her puppy behavior, and Vaer for his lack of presence. He was looked at like a leader, even if they had none, so be fucking present. He grabbed his drink from the young cwn male and brought it to his lips, draining it in a few short gulps. Well, he might as wait to hear what Baenon had to say. It had better be worth it.

 

[Veithir]

A skeptical quirk of the brow towards Baenon.

"Ssso it isss amateur boutsss you make asss your busssinesss now. I sssee!"

A warning. Wailing. And then the voice hushed in Veithir's ears just as it did the rest of his ilk. A curse, she says. A haunting - torment from lives lost and taken? Prattle.

There is no torment Veithir could suffer from another worse than what he has done unto himself.

"Sssay no more, Baenon."

And the Puca split off to find what was needed. Cwn and shucks alike gave the Hound a wide berth as he navigated the mess of stalls, came upon a vendor (one of many) offering drink, and wordlessly hefted a barrel onto his shoulder.

"You! What are you doing!" the man shouted as Veithir began to walk off.

"I require thisss," he stopped only to turn and answer.

"Well, you can't just walk off with my barrel!"

"But, I require thisss."

"W- wh- ... Have you gone mad?!" the stall's owner was stomping towards Veithir now and stopped just in front of the huntsman, glaring at him with red cheeks and mad eyes. Fists curled, ready to throw.

"I require thisss," he hissed, voice rolling like drifting ash, venom in his gaze as he stared the man into surrendering. At last, he spun on his heels, letting fly all manner of profanities as he returned to his booth.

Veithir caught up with Baenon, who had started to butter up their prey for the night. The Puca carefully set the barrel down between the three of them, the taut muscles of his arms dancing as he moved the thing from shoulder to dirt.

"They sssay you have a bottomlesss ssstomach, Jago."

 

[Sivan]

Well, I guess that what happens when you try to help someone from not getting the snot beat out of them, Cas thought glumly as it turned out that the mortal decided to… curse them? Casimir was willing to take more bullying from Jago to help a stranger and got punished for it? Oh, how unfair this cruel, cruel world was. At least the curse didn’t do anything immediately. Cas checked, touching the top of his head to make sure he still had his silk-soft hair, a hand going down to cup his groin to make sure that his manhood was still intact and then he looked over to make sure that he didn’t somehow gain weight. Nope, looks like the curse didn’t affect anything important to Cas—

But what about Astrid?! The most important thing to him: his beloved sister who was having a midlife crisis or something. Leaving Harrier to deal with Jago and to cause whatever other curses, the soft cwn annwn dashed through the crowd, making sure to give Baenon and Veithir a wide berth as he came upon the arena once more, looking down and seeing Astrid still alive and fighting. Still crazy obviously since she didn’t give up yet, but Cas did notice that it seemed like she was winning. Impossible. Well. Not, not impossible. But highly improbable that someone related to Casimir and took after him so much could win a fight. Cas had yet to win a fight. Well, unless you counted the dance competitions, he always won those.

Astrid Bielke

 

[Astrid Bielke]

Astrid and the cwn she was fighting halted at the peculiar sound emanating from a source they couldn't see. Astrid recovered faster than her opponent, and took advantage of the distraction. She ran at him, grappling him to the ground.

He snarled at her and she grinned as she straddled the male beneath her. She swung her fist down, rendering the male unconscious. She stood, panting and sweating. Blood still dripped from her nose, as she stood. She was astounded she had won, elated even. She looked up, her blood running cold. Her eyes met Cas's and she looked away hastily. She knew he was going to be so upset with her.

She slipped out of the ring and hesitantly walked up to her dear brother. "Hey, sorry I didn't help decorate." She gave him a a doe eyed apologetic look and reached for her bag in the sand. She handed it it him and smiled sheepishly. "I got you some new glitter supplies to try and make up for it. Here." She dropped her gaze again, waiting for his reaction. He wasn't one to yell, but she kind of expected it after her display. "You look amazing, by the way."

Casimir Bielke